Eye Sleuth

by Hazel Dawkins

  The next morning I woke from a luxurious sleep, feeling optimistic. Hard work faced Lanny, rehabilitation takes time, but she’d survived and she was awake, I was encouraged by these facts. Slathering almond butter and blueberry jelly on a bagel, I reflected happily on how life had changed. Lanny had come out of her coma and was coherent. Life had been calm for day after tranquil day. I was still worried about my godmother but she was started on the road to recovery. I turned my thoughts to work. I was on schedule with everything. Yes, things were looking brighter than they had for some time.

  Eager to finish the changes to Dr Anders’ paper before I was due to start at the Infants’ Clinic, I arrived at the college early and walked into an uproar in the lobby. Mike at the front desk was on high alert. He gave me his fish-eye stare. You’d have thought he’d never seen me before today. This translates roughly to, “Show me your ID even if you are the dean.” I whipped out my ID and he waved me through with a nod, no pleasant chat today. His face was serious, his attention divided on listening to what one of the security guards was telling him and keeping a watchful gaze on the people milling around in his territory.

  Puzzled, I looked around but didn’t see anyone I knew. SUNY is one of several tenants in the building and I only know college people. Clearly Mike wasn’t in the mood to answer questions. If it was an anthrax or bomb scare, the building would be closed. Couldn’t be fire, either. Shrugging, I went on up the stairs.

  I decided to drop in on Fred Anders before heading for my office. He’d been away for a few days visiting the Ohio company that was to manufacture the equipment he was developing. I was looking forward to the latest news. I might even finally fully grasp what this brilliant man was doing. Odds were that Fred was already at his lab bench, would have been for hours.

  He wasn’t. Two strangers were in the tiny space. One, a slender woman, twenty-five-ish, in black jeans and a light jacket, was busy with something on the top of the crowded bookcase. The other, a dark-suited man also in his twenties, was bent over staring in fascination at the littered lab bench. He looked up and held out a hand in warning.

  “Sorry, this is off limits.”

  The woman swung round and muttered something about technicians late with the tape as usual. Both stared at me intently.

  “Is Dr. Anders around?” I asked.

  “When did you last see him?”

  “Not for several days, I guess it was just before he left for Ohio.”

  I stopped. Something was strangely familiar. The way the two had taken over, their tight focus on me, the question instead of an answer. Had that woman been dusting for prints? I was willing to bet my retinoscope these two were police. Non-uniforms meant detectives. What the hell was going on?

  “You are?” the man said curtly.

  “Dr. Kamimura.”

  “You work here?”

  “Yes, I’m on the faculty.”

  I stared at the man. Detectives could only mean an accident or major trouble. My mouth dropped open as I made the connections. It didn’t bother me that I must look like a stranded fish, I felt like one.

  “I’ll take you to the staff lounge. We’re gathering people there.” Detective Dark Suit ushered me out and down the hall. My stomach knotted and my palms were wet with sweat but I walked steadily beside him. My heart skipped a beat when I saw Dan Riley in the lounge, this definitely had to be trouble. He and his partner were talking with two senior faculty.

  “Dr. Kamimura, I thought you might be in early. ”

  Detective Dark Suit looked inquiringly at Riley, obviously wondering why I merited any comment.

  “Bad news?” I said, annoyed at the undertone of fear in my voice. It crossed my mind that Riley might think I attracted trouble––did he think there was any danger yet? It had to be serious for police to be swarming around the college like bees buzzing around honeysuckle.

  “Yes. I’m sorry to tell you that Dr. Anders was found dead early this morning,” Riley said, his voice sympathetic, his eyes intent but concerned. Detective Dark Suit watched me carefully, maybe to see if my pupils dilated. Maybe he knew the eyes are a treasure trove of information. Dilation could indicate I was going to faint or tell a lie.

  “What’s the cause of death?” I heard myself ask.

  “We don’t have the autopsy results yet.”

  Riley nodded at the other detective, who took the hint and left, heading back to Fred Anders’ lab.

  I shook my head. This was going too fast. Riley indicated a chair but I didn’t want to sit down, I wanted to know what had happened.

  “Did Dr. Anders have a heart attack? What time did he log in?”

  “He signed in around ten PM. The cleaners’ log shows he was working in his lab when they stopped by at eleven last night. He asked them not to bother to clean, told them he’d been away and the place was fine. The front desk doesn’t show him signing out.”

  Riley hadn’t answered my first question. Usually, I have enough self-control to wait until I’m sure there’s no more information. Not today.

  “He often pulls all-nighters. Probably couldn’t wait to get back to his lab bench,” I babbled. “His wife is very understanding of his long hours. She’s a biochemist at….” My voice trailed off as I thought of Fred’s wife.

  How understanding would she be when she heard her husband was dead? She’d be devastated and confused, like me, like everyone who knew Fred Anders, but she might not be suspicious. I was. This was one too many coincidences. Mary Sakamoto’s warning was clear in my head. Danger. Be careful. Perhaps Fred’s death was natural causes, people died of natural causes all the time. On the other hand, my scientific self questioned if this was something to do with Fred’s work. His prototypes could be used for a lot of purposes, not only for vision therapy. Somewhere, somehow, I slotted into the equation. But what in heaven’s name was the connection with Lanny? And what about Gus’s accident? Okay, that could be kids running amok. Then and there I knew I had to get serious about sleuthing. No more putting it off because of work overload. Riley might have a badge and this might be official police work but I had a need to know, a personal need to find out for myself what was going on. I owed it to my godmother and now, to Fred Anders. I definitely owed it to Mary Sakamoto. Riley coughed and I jerked out of my thoughts back to the stark reality of Fred Anders’ death.

  “This is a shock, Dr. Kamimura,” Riley said. “I’m sorry. One of the technicians came in early this morning and found him.”

  “Could it have been a heart attack?” I repeated, almost to myself.

  “We don’t know yet. Until the cause of death is established, we can’t rule out murder.”

  “I understand.”

  Sad to say I did.

  Riley pulled a micro-recorder out of his pocket and a notebook.

  “We need to cover a few questions. Timing of your day yesterday, when you left, when you came in this morning. Last time you saw the deceased. You know the drill.”

  Hell’s bells, yes. These days I know the damn drill.

  The day went down in flames. Everyone, from students to faculty, shed tears, some surreptitiously, some openly weeping as they tried to get on with their work. Depression shrouded us like heavy dawn mist on the Hudson. Our sorrow was palpable. Fred Anders had been a beloved professor, universally liked, respected internationally. We’d lost a good, decent man. Gone was one of optometry’s greats.

  The police poked around gathering information but not releasing any details. I admired the skilful way they coaxed answers out of stunned people but sidestepped sharing any information. Staffer after staffer came out from interviews with dazed looks, unsure exactly what they’d said but certain they’d learned nothing significantly different from the official line. It was a relief to retreat to the Infants’ Clinic for the rest of the morning and concentrate on my patients and their needs. I suppressed thoughts of the tragedy. One of the patients, super-aware the way city kids are, asked why I looked sad. I leveled with her.

&
nbsp; “A dear friend of mine died.”

  She patted my arm to comfort me. That silent reassurance given with such sweet innocence almost undid me but I managed to hold it together. It wasn’t until the last patient left the clinic that I could head for the bathroom and gave in to the luxury of sitting in the stall and sobbing at the loss of a dear colleague, mentor and friend.

  When I shakily emerged from the bathroom, I ran into weepy clusters of people mourning the loss of Fred Anders. We were all in shock but that didn’t stop rumors flying. Until the police released a statement about the cause of death we were in limbo. I didn’t voice my thoughts. Although I wondered if it had been a heart attack, I also questioned whether it was yet another act of violence to add to the bizarre events since Mary Sakamoto was shot. My logical self tried to scoff at this but my creative side flitted restlessly through a forest of doom.

  At my office, I found Matt and Allan standing in the hall outside Allan’s office. “We’re ordering pizza,” Allan said. “Join us?”

  They both looked quite calm and when I stared in surprise, Allan said, “You need to take a break, Yoko, while the police are here. They’ve locked up Anders’ lab and office as tight as a drum until they figure out if it was a murder or not.”

  That did me in, to hear Allan talk in such a casual tone. I dug in my pocket for a tissue and frantically mopped at my wet eyes. The two men stood there, embarrassed, and the tears stopped as soon as they’d started. One tissue was enough.

  “Let’s go and eat. You gotta eat.” Allan said.

  I stifled a laugh, covering it with a cough so that guys wouldn’t think I’d flipped out. But Allan sounded like my Auntie Ai, who always offered food when there were problems. Incredibly, now that Allan mentioned it, I really was hungry. The queasy stomach I’d had when I’d learned about Fred Anders’ death had been quelled by two charcoal tablets. The infuriating truth is that sorrow as well as joy turns my appetite up a few notches.

  “Lead on,” I said, and the two smiled in relief.

  Allan’s right ear had his Bluetooth gizmo perched on it and as we walked down the hall to the staff room, he ordered two large pizzas, one double cheese, one sausage and peppers. Not surprisingly, the staff room was jammed. Right then and there we had an informal celebration of Fred’s life. No rumors, no speculation about how he’d died. Instead, tale after tale of his beguiling English humor, his eccentric work habits and his creative genius. It was cathartic. People drifted back to their offices with obvious reluctance.

  Matt and Allan and I left together and walked slowly down the hall.

  “Some time I want to hear more about your retirement plans, Matt,” Allan said as he turned to go to his office.

  “Retirement?” I was surprised.

  “A dream for the future,” Matt said. “I’ll sail the seas, anchor in hidden harbors.”

  Matt’s passion for sailing, I learned, included having a boat big enough to live on. As yet he didn’t have even a small boat.

  “What he does have are a lot of funny stories about sailing mishaps,” Allan said.

  “Where do you sail?” I asked Matt.

  “New Jersey mostly.”

  “With your cousin whose son is a better sailor than the two of you, right?” Allan asked.

  Matt was quiet for a moment, then said, staring at the floor, “You know my nephew’s dead.”

  We were silent in embarrassment, then Allan muttered an apology and changed the topic, asking if it was true that the college was scheduled to move uptown. This piece of gossip wasn’t new to me but I was interested in what Matt had to say. Uptown sounded good.

  “Between rent hikes here and the wish to have a location closer to Grand Central and Penn Station, it looks imminent. Still, you know politicians, a lot of talk, another committee, plenty of plans but not always any action.”

  “You’re more a man of action?” Allan jabbed.

  “I try,” Matt said but the look he gave Allan was cold. Allan blinked in surprise then backtracked.

  “I know you are, Matt,” he said. “You organized the food drive for the homeless and keep it going year after year.”

  Eventually, I was able to escape to my office. Finally alone, it was impossible to stop thinking about Fred’s death. If he’d died from natural causes, my worry was pointless. Was I way off track, imagining trouble where none existed? The only way I’d be satisfied was to search for the truth, but I didn’t have any ideas on how to start. Fred’s death was a terrible wake-up call. One fact I knew for sure, I’d keep any personal snooping confidential, particularly from Detective Riley.

  Seven

  The afternoon dragged but I stuck it out until about seven. Most everyone had gone home and the place had quieted down. The mound of work still on my desk was depressing and I was ready to call it quits when the phone shrilled. I almost didn’t answer it.

  “Yoko, glad you’re there, can you come to my office now?”

  It was Dean Jackson, someone so high up the ladder that I usually met him only at official functions. Basically, after welcoming me when I joined the staff, my contact with the dean was limited to brief, impersonal conversations at gatherings for visiting dignitaries. You know the type of exchange, “How are you?” “Good speech, wasn’t it?” Nonetheless, we all knew the dean was fully informed about everything that went on in the college. This was my first telephone call from him.

  “I’ll be right there.”

  What now? Must be serious.

  The dean was alone. He didn’t beat around the bush.

  “Yoko, I know this is unexpected but we need someone to attend the conference next week in England in place of Dr. Anders. We hope you will agree to go. None of the senior faculty can get away at this time and you’ve been closely involved with the research and the writing of his paper for the conference. Dr. Anders told me more than once how much he valued your help.”

  Astounded, I stared at him for a moment and then blurted, “I don’t have a passport.”

  I realized I’d accepted, albeit obliquely.

  Dean Jackson smiled. “Not a problem. The passport office will expedite it for an extra fee.” He must have remembered my modest salary because he hastily added, “SUNY will cover all expenses for the passport. Conference fees, the hotel and meals are already paid. My secretary called the travel agent and a ticket will be issued in your name. She’ll make sure it reaches you promptly.”

  I nodded my understanding. The dean delivered a second bombshell.

  “You’ll have to present Dr. Anders’ paper at the conference.” He smiled. “Don’t look so alarmed, I’ve every confidence in you. We’re not sending you into the lion’s den alone. I’ve spoken to Bernell, the company developing the prototypes. Dr. Steve Farge, who’s leading that work, is already scheduled to attend the conference and he’s agreed to join you at the podium. He will be especially helpful during the question-and-answer session.”

  My nod was half-hearted. The rationale behind the dean’s request was understandable. However, it left out the human element, me. The thought of presenting a paper to an international audience was overwhelming.

  “Can you go to the passport office first thing tomorrow?”

  Again I nodded and the dean settled back in his chair, mission accomplished.

  “Keep in touch with my secretary. She’ll help sort out any details.”

  I mumbled my thanks and the dean stood. I was at the door when he spoke again.

  “Yoko, I know this request is a shock. None of us has had time to come to terms with Dr. Anders’ unexpected death but he’d be the first to say you’re the right person to go in his place.”

  “Thank you, Dean Jackson,” I said.

  No way could I go home now. I needed to focus on the paper. I’d been working on it for so long and I wasn’t entirely clueless but a burst of enlightenment would be useful. Part of the difficulty was that there was more than one prototype and I wasn’t sure if I’d interpreted the last-minute change
s Fred had made. Everything had taken more time than I’d anticipated. The review by several senior practitioners had also generated a little more work. I sat at my desk, sorting papers mechanically, my thoughts racing. My emotions were wildly conflicted. I hated that the opportunity came because of the death of Fred Anders, even though I knew that he, ever the pragmatic scientist, would have cheered me on. I’d felt a fraud accepting the dean’s congratulations but excitement was growing in me.

  The words, “When you get to England,” played over and over in my head––I was trying to blot out the part about giving the paper. Thank God two of us would handle that. Farge’s help with the question-and-answer session would be valuable. What a rite of passage––first time to an international conference, first trip to England, first time giving a major paper. The state meetings I’d attended were small gatherings, mostly for continuing education. I’d made presentations but I’d rather poke a sharp stick in my eye than speak to large groups. Remember, I’m an optometrist. I know the damage a stick in your eye can cause.

  I looked over my schedule for the days before I had to leave for the conference. Apart from a final editing of the paper and the three mornings at the clinic, the only unusual event was Saturday’s dedication of the renovations to the clinic. Rooting around in my desk I found munchies, crackers, rock-hard cheese and, joy of joy, a Larabar. I labored over the paperwork and sooner than expected was heading home, exhausted. A sense of eager anticipation mixed with dread at the thought of the upcoming trip and I decided to stop thinking about the downside of the conference and look forward to the pleasure of a visit to England. It wasn’t till I reached my building that I returned to earth with a bump. Cautiously I scanned the street. Just a few pedestrians hurrying by, not remotely interested in me.